No Other Explanation
by PhantomPenguin
Summary: Alice decided that she was going mad. Completely, utterly, totally mad. How else could she validate her complete reversal of regard towards one freckled, white-haired, utterly irritating haberdasher?


**Disclaimer: I do not own Alice in Wonderland or the song that gave me this little plot bunny. **

So, it's not an update for _Children At Heart, _but it's something, at least! For those of you are awaiting that update, I _am_ working on the next chapter; it's just taking me a bit longer because I have to decide which direction I want to take the story. Anyway, I was listening to a CD on my way to school the other day and the words to one of the songs triggered a little writing spree...bonus points to anybody who can guess which song or artist inspired the story!

As always, read, review, and enjoy!

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Alice decided that she was going mad—completely, utterly, totally mad.

There was no other explanation possible, really; how else could she validate her complete reversal of regard towards one freckled, white-haired, utterly _irritating_ haberdasher? His persistence could possibly be to blame, but she ruled that out almost immediately. She prided herself on her iron will, and no Hatter would best _her _in a contest of wills! Perhaps it had been something in her food. That possibility had appeared promising enough, until Alice realized it had been a good three months and she showed no signs whatsoever of recovering from her bout of seeming lunacy.

No, there could be no other reason for it. She was simply insane.

Her loss of sanity had begun slowly and innocently enough, creeping over her as she slept, her head pillowed on her hand and her body ensconced by blankets--unprotected and open to all sorts of unsuspected sieges of the mind. Dreams invaded her slumber, dreams of fantastic and impossible realities—fields of daffodils speckled with banana trees, three-wheeled carriages, and so on.

This in itself did not worry her, as she had always been prone to flights of fancy and spurts of imagination. Dreams were dreams, after all. What _did _bother her was the cast of characters in these imaginings. Certainly it consisted of the typical motley assortment that often haunts the human dream, but Alice's was, in her opinion, much worse than most. Each and every dream featured _him _in some way, shape, or form. No matter when or where she slept, a certain figure wearing a disproportionate hat routinely found his way into her subconscious.

The first time, she barely even noticed. Upon waking, all she could recall was that they had been waltzing atop a glacier whilst an ensemble of penguins serenaded them--routine enough, as these things went. Unfortunately for Alice, it all went downhill from there. As her subconscious began to hone in more and more on simple encounters with the Hatter (these frightening dreams of normalcy being indicative of a sense of comfort Alice had no desire to experience with the man), Alice began to worry that she might just be one card short of a full deck. One morning, she was horrified to realize upon waking that she had spent the better part of her nightly rest simply taking tea with him, and he behaving quite civilly. _Tea_, of all things!

These dreams, these _feelings_, shouldn't be happening. They were unnatural. He was supposed to be a nuisance, a minutiae pest who periodically and often spontaneously featured in the show of her life. She wasn't supposed to actually _enjoy _his company!

It was obviously madness.

Why else would she laugh when no one else was around, or walk about dazed, with nary a thought in her head, for prolonged periods of time? It certainly couldn't be because she was thinking of _him_.

Preposterous.

One man could not be the source of such constant amusement, the reason she was invariably laced with the contented hum of happiness. He couldn't be the reason she woke up in the morning with an unexplained smile pulling at her lips and a sense of anticipation for the day to come. Why ever would she be excited to be launched into yet another adventure with a certifiably insane, mercury-addled hat maker?

No _sane _person would be.

Alice resigned herself to the fact that she was missing a screw or two, for why else would she spend nearly every waking moment in the company of a sugar-loving tea addict who she had sworn to dislike? The typical response to bizarre behavior was to turn and quickly walk the other way—yet she did just the opposite. Heavens, sometimes she even took on their adventures with something akin to eagerness!

Alice shook her head—insanity. That's all there was to it.

One day, she planned to go hunting for all of the marbles that she had lost. They had to be rattling around somewhere, for they certainly weren't in her head where they belonged. Imagination was well and good, but Alice felt that hers had gone too far.

She wasn't supposed to want him to hold her, should absolutely _not _long to have his gaze lock intensely onto hers, draw her close and hold her like she was the only person in the world, or at least the only one for _him_. Propriety that had been bred into her since birth simply dissipated in his presence, oozing out of her and leaving her with a noticeable lack of common sense and Victorian reservations.

She wanted him, wanted his touch and his attention and—dare she even think it?—his affection.

What else could that be but insanity?

Madness was contagious, Alice decided. He had it in full force, exuded it from ever orifice—she must have caught it from him. Yes. It was all _his _fault!

She certainly spent enough time in his company for such a thing to occur. She had his morning schedule committed to memory: wake with the birds or the rising sun (whichever came first), bound out of bed, cup of tea, on with the lurid ensemble of the day, another cup of tea, then off to harass her and land them into yet another unconventional adventure. She knew his preferences and likes—he took his tea with at least three lumps of sugar, but preferably more—and his dislikes—no cream, because that would just ruin the flavor—and could tell anyone who cared to ask about his numerous quirks and habits.

He professed a profound disinterest in reading, yet she knew for a fact that he kept a hoard of books stashed away in his linen closet just beneath the bath towels and above the bed sheets. They read together sometimes, the only sound that of the soft whisper of one sheet of paper brushing against another.

In such moments, he almost seemed sane; Alice simply sank further into madness. Lunacy had taken hold of her, gripping her tightly and drawing her further into its enigma of an embrace. She watched him read, carefully studying every curve of his face, memorizing the intensity of his eyes. She pondered what it would feel like to run her fingers through that white hair, wondered how that vibrant orange coat would feel against her cheek should she ever dare to rest her head on his shoulder.

When her mind turned down such an illogical path, Alice knew without a doubt that she was truly and completely insane, had come down with a fever that could not be cured. It was unnatural for her to wonder such things. They were incompatible, she and the Hatter. He was childlike, she a mature adult in all but experience. He lived for sugar and tea and insanity, she shirked them but for the rarest of occasions. Spontaneity ruled his life, yet hers was structured.

They simply did not mesh.

But, for some single, unexplained, completely insane reason, Alice didn't seem to care. She had gone completely, utterly, and inexplicably _mad_—for how else could she have fallen in love with the Hatter?

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So, what did you think? It's not long at all, but it's full of that nice little bit of silliness that we all need every now and then. Imaginary cookies to anyone who guesses the song!

Reviews are love!


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